


Through the smoke of you

by TheGD



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 17th Century, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Perfumes and smells, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Versailles - Freeform, eventually, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGD/pseuds/TheGD
Summary: In 17th century Versailles, Crowley becomes self-conscious about his own sulphuric smell. He attempts to mask it with perfume, thinking that Aziraphale probably finds him disgusting. A bottle of perfume runs out, a book is lost and found, palms are kissed and romance ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears! Good Omens is truly magical because it made me write my very first fanfic ever!! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Versailles smelled like Hell. Not hell with a lowercase ‘h’ but Hell with an ‘H’ the size of The Sun King’s hair. Crowley should know what Hell smells like, he comes from there after all. Actually all of Europe smelled like Hell at that particular point in history; a foul combination of shit on the streets, a sensible fear of unmoving water and rivers that were nothing but a brown sludge of everything. At the moment one of the public _toilettes_ underneath the stairs seemed to be overflowing. A rat ran across the hallway. Great. Versailles certainly made him miss Eden, the air not yet tainted by any kind of pollution or bad smell, Adam and Eve bathing in the waterfall, him basking in the sunlight, Aziraphale humming an ineffable tune. He also missed the Roman Empire, with its baths, its scented oils and the open spaces, cleanliness was nearly a religion back then. Yes, the good old days, the good old, cleaner days. Crowley managed to temp some _courtiers_ in record time and left so fast that it probably looked like _le diable_ himself was chasing him. But nobody noticed and nobody noticed either when he dematerialized with a silent pop just outside the palace’s door.

He manifested himself somewhere in the country where things weren’t as crammed and the air could run freely. Cool air filled his lungs and he closed his eyes trying to forget the smell of Versailles, which only made him think about it even more and give himself a headache in the process. The trees were thick around him and the wild flowers bloomed lazily on the ground. He shot them a menacing look and they flowered more, filling the air with the slightest hint of their perfume. There had to be a river near by, he was high enough up the mountain that the river would be fresh out of it’s origin and not yet polluted. Of course he could go to the nearest village and pay an absurd amount of money to get a warm bath somewhere but that would take time and besides, bathing in rivers was a perfectly acceptable thing in the seventeenth century. His forked tongue tasted the air and sensed water near by.

As soon as he saw it he started stripping down, leaving a path of expensive clothes on the grass. He didn’t have the proper swimwear for the occasion but it didn’t matter, getting rid of the smell was far more important than his dignity. The water was so cold he stoped breathing for a second and he briefly considered going back to the village plan, but then he remembered the floor at Versailles and the nerve-racking sensation of stepping barefooted on it. At times like this, he wished he wore shoes. He sank into the water and made an effort to breath again. He conjured some soap, the expensive kind, and scrubbed himself raw, the cold water carrying away the suds. When he was done he got out shivering, his lips and his nails a little blue. Feeling like a wet rat he was glad nobody was there to see him. He miracled new clothes, disappeared his ruined ones and dried himself in a haste. He was clean and everything was fine. Yes, everything was perfectl-

There was a disgusting smell in the air. He turned around to check that his clothes here gone, yes they had vanished properly, a demonic miracle well done. Then what was it? Was the village nearby burning? No, it didn’t look like it. What the hell was that smell? It was Hell, actually. Sulfur and smoke, feathers burnt long ago and blistering skin. The smell came from himself. Just his usual demonic essence getting stirred up by the wind. He felt like wretching, he felt like ripping of his goddamned skin and tossing it away. He wasn’t better than Versailles, he wasn’t better than Europe, he wasn’t better than the shit piling up on the streets. They were all hellish disgusting things and it didn’t matter how much he scrubbed himself or how often he changed his expensive clothes, he could never scape the rot of his own soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…what do you think? What’s your favorite soap or perfume for hiding the rot of your own soul? ;) See you on the next chapter! (Follow me on my tumblr the-character if you want some multi-fandom binge-posting nonsense)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for me because this chapter is a little bit longer than the first one! Thank you all for commenting and for the kudos <3

Small glass bottles all around him, dizzying, confusing and just what he needed. The clerk at the _parfumerie_ was looking at him expectantly.

“Something strong.” he said and the girl scurried away behind the counter. She came back and he smelled it, no, that was too strong. “Something less strong, then”.

In the hour and a half he was there he smelled countless perfumes, the girl kept running around the shop trying to follow his orders of “less lavender” and “something woodier” and “something less woody”. What would Aziraphale like? Something sweet probably, a little bit dusty and warm, although anything would be an improvement to his current stench, he thought. By the time his head and his nostrils were nearly on fire, he had settled on a bergamot, neroli, lavender and rosemary mix; strong yet elegant. The poor girl was sweating as he payed and only gave him a relieved ‘merci beaucoup’ when he left.

How is it that he hadn’t noticed his own smell before? It was not as if it was new, it had been part of him since his fall. And it was certainly not as if the humans had always been perfectly clean until that point. No, they had always been the same. Then why now? Feeling the bottle in his coat pocket he reasoned that the nobles nowadays went to extreme lengths to smell good, hell, even the king was nicknamed “The sweet flowery one” and his court “The perfumed court”. Never before had he seen such a great effort to hide ones own smell and it made him realize that he wasn’t making an effort at all. He had never made an effort, maybe that was why the angel didn’t like him. I mean, the angel did like him but not in the way he wanted to be liked; waking up naked, hugging, holding hands and cuddling, cuddling sounded so good. Bile rose in his throat and his hand tightened around the glass bottle. As soon as he got to his temporary home he doused himself with it, his wrists, his neck, even a little bit on his long hair. That should do it. He felt much better as he went around the streets tempting the poor to steal and the children to trip the nobles over into the mud. By nighttime he had almost forgotten his own foulness and went to sleep on clean sheets feeling a semblance of peace.

He dreamt a long forgotten memory - not that eternal beings could forget, but they sure can pretend to. It was some years after they’d had drinks in Rome. Crowley was soaking in the hot waters of Bath; the tips of her hair, long once again, were wet and managed to cover her nearly flat chest. Her eyes were closedbehind her glasses when she felt a person slide into the water next to her. She knew who it was before opening her eyes.

“Angel”.

“ _Carissima_ ”. 

“It’s been a while. What brings you to Aquae Sulis?” She asked, opening her eyes and looking at the angel. His skin was already flushed form the steam or perhaps something else…no, it couldn’t be.

“Minor miracle as always. And you?”

“Minor temptation as always”.

“Are you temping everyone here? I think it’s working”. Said Aziraphale looking around, noticing the looks Crowley was getting.

“My target is elsewhere, I’m just enjoying a bath”.

“Right”. The angel blushed even more deeply and Crowley’s smile widened, maybe there was hope for this particular temptation, after all. 

They stayed there for hours, talking until their corporations’ skin was wrinkly and soft. As they walked together to the _frigidarium_ , Aziraphale struggled to avert his eyes from her body. Crowley smiled cheekily. They ended up having dinner together, something delicious that had certainly made the angel moan a little bit. When they parted ways at night they were content, perfumed and relaxed. Crowley’s face had hurt from so much smiling and laughing, it had been a good day. The memory became blurrier as morning approached. Crowley wished he could stay in the dream forever but it slipped through his fingers like sulfurous smoke.

The next day he woke up well rested, if a little sad, and ready for another day of mildly successful temping, but as soon as he moved his bedcovers aside, he smelled it again. Rotten eggs, smoke and his rotten soul; all poorly hidden underneath a strong current of bergamot, neroli, lavender and rosemary. Fucking good for nothing herbs, fucking good for nothing Hell. He angrily doused himself in more perfume before going out. The city was as disgusting as always and so was he. It was a sad thing, being in the same smell category as a major European city, but such was life and there was nothing he could do except try to disguise it like everyone else. Well, at least he was _en vogue_. 

When the day’s tempting was over he was tired and he thought he could use some comfort so he instinctively stepped into a bookshop. It smelled so nice, dusty, warm, old as time and beautiful, oh so beautiful. There was something so soothing about bookshops but he couldn’t exactly say what it was, a certain _je ne sais quoi_. Breathing deeply he walked around the aisles looking around but never touching anything, suddenly fearful of polluting the books with his hellish essence.

A particular book caught his eye, a slim white book without a title. He grabbed it with his handkerchief and openedit on a random page. It read:

“His love pours from his eyes, onto his cheeks and onto my lips. His tears I’ll kiss for as long as I live”. Wow that was…beautiful. It should’ve been hard for a demon to accept this but it wasn’t, it was simply beautiful. The book had no author and nothing to distinguish it by but a signature on the first page, an intelligible scribble and a note that said “For you, for us”.It painfully reminded him of his feelings for a certain angel. He bought it in a hurry, not even noticing the price, and walked back into the street. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tapped into the energy of the world and found the presence he was looking for in some forest in Germany. With a silent pop he disappeared from Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I’m gonna have to write that book myself because it doesn’t exist and I want to read it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope short chapters don't bother anyone too much, this is sort of a vignette-y fic :) thanks for the comments and kudos!

The forest air smelled cold and green like an early morning. What was the angel doing in the middle of nowhere? Crowley wondered as he looked for Aziraphale, the book firmly held in his hand. A few meters before a cabin the air started to smell holy, yes, he was on the right track. He peaked trough a window and saw the angel drinking tea with a bearded man, they were laughing and talking. The angel looked at ease with the man, relaxed, friendly in a way that he only was with Crowley. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Aziraphale was like that with everyone but he was never there to see it. It was always just the two of them, alone against the world. Maybe he wasn’t so special after all. He sat underneath a tree waiting for the angel to come out of the cabin but he never did. At some point he fell asleep, the cold fog encircled him and left tiny droplets on his hair and skin. Nearly frozen, he dreamt about heaven, the emptiness and the coldness of it were not to dissimilar to the current state of his own heart.

A soft gasp and warm hand touching his shoulder awoke him, a concerned voice called his name.

“I’m awake, I’m awake”. He said, struggling to sit up.

“For Heavens sake Crowley, you’re frozen to the bone! What were you thinking! You could seriously damage your corporation with the cold”.

“I didn’t want to bother you”.

“Bother me?”

“With your boyfriend over there”.

“Him? Oh he’s just a writer that I have to convince to go back to the city and publish his book, it’ll do a lot of good in the world”.

“Nice. So-“

“What is that smell?” Said Aziraphale interrupting Crowleys question.

“It’s-it’s my new cologne. Don’t you like it?” Said Crowley, his stomach tying in worry-shaped knots. If Aziraphale hated his cologne he was going to have to go back to the parfumerie and give himself a headache again. Such a pain in the ass, this smelling good business.

“I’ll get used to it. Come on, my dear, let’s get you warmed up”. Said the angel helping him to his feet. His hands were warm in Crowley’s.

As it turned out the writer had gone to the city already and Aziraphale and Crowley had the cabin for themselves. The angel covered his friend with a wool blanket and stoked the fire. Crowley couldn’t help but think that the man’s blanket would be forever tainted with his essence and he vowed to miracle him a new one later.

“So what are you doing here, Crowley?”

“Hmm, ah, me? I was in the neighborhood and I sensed your presence. There’s not much to interfere with it out here in the middle of nowhere, really”.

“Right. And what is that book you’re holding?”

“This old thing? Just a book, yeah just a regular book. I thought you might want to read it”. He said handing it over to the angel.

“Thank you, dear”. He said opening it immediately. “It has no author…or page numbers!”

“Scandalous”. Said the demon smiling, warming up from the inside out.

Crowley told him where he’d found it and Aziraphale was exited by the mystery, joyfully speculating as he put the kettle on and made them some tea. Sleeping in the cold was worth it if he got to see the angel like this.

“Ooh perhaps the author was an undercover spy and he wanted to publish his poetry while keeping his identity secret”. Said the angel, rambling.

“Maybe it was a forbidden romance and he had to say how he felt without putting his name on the words”. His heart raced, he hoped his eyes didn’t tell his truth.

“Spies are more fun, my dear”.

“Suit yourself, we’ll never know anyways”.

Aziraphale put a cup of tea by his elbow, and smiled down to him before primly sitting on the other end of the couch. The angel didn’t appear to mind the perfume so he decided that it worked well enough and that he was going to keep on using it forever. No overreaction at all, just a courtesy to everyone he crossed paths with. Who wanted to smell sulphur and burnt feathers when talking to someone? Nobody, specially not an angel. The angel was probably too polite to tell him that he reeked and that’s why he hadn’t said anything in the past several millennia, yes, that must be it. They had breakfast there and when Crowley was thoroughly thawed and fed, they went their separate ways yet again.

“Thank you for the book, Crowley.” said Aziraphale with a sweet smile.

“Don’t mention it angel. See you in a couple decades”. He replied, hoping that it wouldn't really be a couple of decades. That smile was definitely worth it sleeping out in the cold.

“See you in a blink.”

And with that they both vanished from the German woods in the middle of nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos if you’ve ever slept in the German woods in the middle of nowhere while the love of your life drinks tea with someone else ;')


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to merge the 4th and the 5th chapters to make it less vignette-y, so this is the last chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Time went by, the world evolved and so did it’s scents. The eighteen century smelled like powdered wigs and decapitated heads; the nineteenth smelled like industrial revolution and cholera. The twentieth was sweet with debris, death and the first anti-perspirants. The twenty-first so far smelled like good company and the almost-end of the world- it was the best one yet. Crowley had evolved accordingly, finding a new parfumerie every couple of decades and sometimes befriending important people like Coco or Christian (what an ironic name). In fact, he still had a Chanel Nº5 bottle that he used sparingly, just special occasions like dinner at the Ritz or a walk in the park or staying in for drinks or just being in the same room as Aziraphale. The truth is that the angel had mentioned once that he liked that particular fragrance so Crowley knew to save it just for him. Coco was not one to half-ass anything so a drop or two was always enough.

His luck ran out a week after the Notpocalypse. He was going to meet Aziraphale at the bookshop for takeout and some Velvet Underground (skipping Blue Eyes, of course) but now everything was ruined! He couldn’t go out like this. Sure, he could pick another perfume from his ample collection but it wouldn’t be the same. If only he hadn’t showered before he realized, he could’ve just miracle himself clean and kept the nº5 on for one more day. If only.

He forgot about time and sat sulking in his chair for hours, still in his bathrobe. It had been awful, getting out of the shower, with his corporation’s pores open and ready to better harness the powers of the nº5, and finding out he had completely ran out. How he hadn’t noticed before he didn’t know but it was a bloody tragedy. A knock on his door brought him back from his sulking. He waved his hand and the door opened.

“Crowley?” The angel said carefully.

“In here!”

“Oh thank God you’re ok! I though something had happened to you! Why didn’t you show up?”

“Forgot, I guess.” Crowley said as nonchalantly as posible.

“You’ve never forgotten one of our dates before, are you quite alright my dear?” he asked and finally breathed for the first time since coming in. “What is that smell?” he asked with a puzzled face.

“Not all of us are lucky enough to be in Her good graces.” He said pointing up, still slumped in his chair. 

“I don’t know what you mean. It smells smokey and…”

“Stop rubbing it in my face will you?”

“I was going to say it smelled nice!”.

“Oh”.

“Is it you?”

“Yeah”. Said the demon shyly.

Aziraphale leaned down to smell Crowley, who involuntarily stretched his neck to the side reveling it’s tanned length.

“Yes, nice, kinda like an old fireplace in a cozy room or adistant bonfire”. The angel said, not moving away.

“You-you like it?” Crowley said, he was definitely confused.

“Yes my dear, why wouldn’t I?” Aziraphale said matter of factly.

“It’s hellish, it’s rotten and dead!”

“To me it just smells like you”.

“Exactly!” Why didn’t the angel understand that he was disgusting?

“Exactly. My dear…” With ineffable sadness and tenderness the angel said and grabbed Crowley’s hand in his. He put it up to his face and onto his cheek and inhaled deeply. “It’s just you, Crowley, just you” he kissed the demon’s palm.

Crowley was paralyzed, he had felt Aziraphale’s lips move against his skin and say those lovely words but his brain was having trouble processing everything.

“Brimstone…” he said quietly.

“No, my dear, not brimstone, just you.” He kissed Crowley on the lips then on his neck and anywhere he could reach from his awkward leaning down position. “Bedroom’s on the left, correct?”

“Nhm-yeah”. Said Crowley as he was dragged to the bedroom.

The next morning found Crowley hugging his angel in bed, naked skin against, slightly warmer, naked skin. Good morning kisses were exchanged and neither of them made a move to get out of bed.

“So that’s why you always wore cologne!” said the angel, connecting the dots.

“Yeah”.

“I never really liked it”. The angel scrunched his nose.

“What? Not even the nº5?”. He had to be kidding him!

“What is a nº5?”

“For heavens sake, angel! You could’ve told me you didn’t like it sometime in the past 500 years!”

“I didn’t want to sound judgy and I thought you were doing it because you liked it, you know, being fashionable and smooth is kinda your thing”.

“Oh just kiss me, angel”. And kiss they did.

Some time later they had breakfast and walked to the bookshop to open it. It was a quiet day as most of the days had been after the Notpocalypse. A little before dinner time came in a young woman in a suit. Aziraphale begrudgingly looked up from his book and he eyed Crowley nervously who was in snake form basking near a window. The woman was looking at the bookshelves with a lost expression.

“May I help you, young lady?”

“Hmmm yes, I was wondering if…it’s probably silly but my great great great great grandfather wrote a book of poems for his, um, for a friend and he never…It’s silly, I should just leave”. She stumbled though her words, embarrassed.

“And he never what?” The angel asked curiously.

“He never published it or anything, he wrote two copies, one for his, um, friend, and the other one he gifted to his favorite bookshop. It’s stupid, I’m stupid, this was in France, ages ago, there’s no way-"

“Did he put his name on it?” Asked Crowley, coming out of nowhere in his human shape. The young woman was startled but pretended not to be.

“Um I believe it’s just signed by him, no name”.

“It’s your book, angel!” Crowley exclaimed.

“My book?”

“The book that I gave you in Germany…a long time ago! Where is it?” Said Crowley with urgency. 

“Ah the book, the book without a name, that book! Well…it is-it’s in my nightstand. Should I go get it?” He asked and both Crowley and the woman yelled “Yes!”

“So…it’s in his nightstand. A very special place for a book”. Said the young woman in a teasing but kind voice.

“Do you think so?”

“Oh yes and it’s not a book that you give to a friend, you give it to a…soulmate. You must really love him”.

“I wouldn’t say-I mean…yeah, I guess”.

They stood there in silence, both blushing deep red waiting for the angel to come back. He finally did and the woman’s eyes filled with tears when she recognized it. The book was a legend in her family, everybody knew how it looked, what it said, and what it meant but none of them had ever seen it. She grabbed it delicately from Aziraphale’s hands.

“It’s just like I imagined it. Do you mind if I photocopy it? I want to propose to my girlfriend with it”.

“You can keep it my dear, it’s on the house”.

“Really? Oh you’re an angel!”

The woman left but not before hugging the Aziraphale and shaking Crowley’s hand with a knowing glance. As soon as she left Crowley’s stomach sank; in all of his 6000 years he had never ever seen the angel give away a book. He only sold the non-important ones but he Never gave any of them away for free. He slumped down on the couch to sulk. Aziraphale looked at him with concern. 

“I had never seen you give away a book. You didn’t like it?” Said Crowley after a while, feeling Aziraphale’s eyes on him.

“Oh Crowley…” he muttered with with sweet exasperation “stay put for a minute, will you?” He said and headed upstairs without another word. Crowley started plucking the fluff out of the quilt he was slumping on. What the hell was the angel doing? He came back a few minutes later with a book in his hands. “It’s just a copy, I had it made some centuries ago.”

It was a slim white book without a title. Crowley grabbed it carefully and opened it to the first page. The book had no author and nothing to distinguish it by but a signature on the first page, an intelligible scribble and a note that said “For you, for us”. Underneath the note, tucked between the pages was a golden ring exactly like the one Aziraphale always wore.

“I hope I got your size right. I had to make mine a bit bigger to fit the right finger”.

“The right finger?” Crowley asked puzzled.

“Well the left one, technically”. Aziraphale said teasingly. Crowley was dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open in a soft smile and his eyebrows high up his forehead as he slowly realized what the angel was saying. 

“Angel?” he said finally. 

“Yes my dear?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Why, I though you’d never ask!”

Rings were placed on the right fingers, well, the left ones, technically. Tears were shed and kissed away. Ancient promises were finally said out-loud. They sat on the couch for a long time, Aziraphale buried his nose in Crowley’s hair, smelling the sweet smoke of him, his one and only love. Crowley buried his nose in his angel’s neck and inhaled the sweet scent of home, his home. They were finally both home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming with me on the journey of my first fic ever!! I really hope it wasn’t so bad :)
> 
> I want to write a couple more fanfics about this fools in love so if you want to stay tuned for that you can follow me on my tumblr the-character. Take care folks, may you find true love (if you want it)!!


End file.
